


Youth (makes fools of us all)

by Sanctuaria



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, the Red Room Sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: In 1994, a young Widow is assigned an important mission playing the wife of the Red Guardian.In 1994, two students are selected to accompany them.In 1994, against all machinations of the Red Room, a family is made.
Relationships: (Eventual), Alexei Shostakov | Alexi Shostakov/Melina Vostokoff
Comments: 23
Kudos: 76





	Youth (makes fools of us all)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Black Widow movie day! Or not. 
> 
> This is...not my best work, but I'm posting it anyway. Hopefully it'll help tide at least a few of you over til November.

The first time she sees the yellow-haired girl called Yelena Belova, Natalia is five and Yelena is three and screaming her head off. She bites and shrieks and kicks at the two adults with their blue-gloved hands clamped tight on her arms and legs, and Natalia watches from the shadows, a pink ring of tender flesh around her wrist and red-stained ballet shoes covering the blisters on her feet.

Yelena learns it is easier not to resist. Eventually, they all do.

The second time Natalia sees Yelena, they are both older, taller, wiser—aged souls still trapped in young bodies that have learned to fight, to survive, to kill. Natalia is eleven, dark red hair bound in a braid and a thin, lithe body that is all angles and sharp edges. Across from her on the mat, Yelena is nine, flaxen hair bound back in a ponytail and cheeks that still have not quite been stripped of the last of their baby fat. They stare at each other, trapped animals with nowhere to run.

 _“Yes…I think I should like to see which of you is the better fighter,”_ Madame B’s voice echoes through Natalia’s head with every pump of blood to her muscles. It is not a fair fight—it is never a fair fight, in the Red Room—and she cannot think what she has done to deserve this, to face off against a girl two years her junior even if they are both the head of their classes. Perhaps it is a punishment for Yelena, Natalia thinks, because she herself will not lose. She _cannot_ lose.

The stares of the other girls hot on her back fall away as Yelena’s fist tightens, as they begin to circle each other with careful, deliberate steps. Natalia focuses on her eyes, the pupils, watching where she focuses so as to pinpoint where Yelena will strike.

And strike Yelena does, running at Natalia’s shoulder, so Natalia ducks underneath, grabbing for the girl’s ankle and bringing her crashing down. Foreign fingers scrabble at her side and then her leg is being yanked out from under her as well, Yelena throwing her body on top of Natalia’s as soon as her back has hit the mat. Pinned, Natalia backhands her across the face before jabbing at her throat. Yelena falls to the side, coughing, and Natalia manages to get one knee up before the other girl is throwing herself on top of her again. This time Natalia has the the leverage, though, along with speed and strength, and she twists her body with as much of force as she can, sending Yelena tumbling to the edge of that mat. Natalia smiles, a feral thing, pushing herself up on her elbows and rising to her feet to deliver the finishing blow.

The mat jerks out from under her, returning her to the ground in a tangle of limbs. She has just enough time to see Yelena gathering up one side of it before the edge of it is thrown at her, smacking her in the face with the musty smell of dried sweat and blood. Natalia flails with the heavy mat for a moment before managing to throw it off, only to be tackled again, bare feet kicking at the taut flesh of her stomach. The small, teardrop-shaped face above her flushed with exertion, the exhilaration of success. Fear touches Natalia’s mind for a brief moment—she cannot be allowed to fail, failure is not an option. Struggling to ignore the sharp pain of every kick, Natalia forces her hands back into action, closing them around Yelena’s throat, watching the girl’s blue eyes widen in surprise, then alarm, then panic and desperation.

“Enough!” Madame B calls out. Yelena’s foot connects with a solid _thump_ into Natalia’s side one more time, and her own fingers squeeze tighter. The girl lets out a small choked sound and the tinges of red fade from Natalia’s vision, her hands dropping back to her sides to allow the girl to roll off of her to safety.

“Get up,” Madame B commands, and Natalia pushes herself to her feet, feeling the twinges along her side that will undoubtedly be bruises by the next morning. Yelena does the same, blood dripping from her nose. Around them, both Yelena’s classmates and hers stare at them silently, and near the doorway is a woman Natalia does not recognize, who must have entered during the fight. “You have both acquitted yourself well,” the Madame tells them, sending a flash of confusion through Natalia. Never before has she been told she did well, and failed to win. “You have been selected for an important mission. It is a great honor, and a chance for you to serve the Union.” She beckons to the unknown woman watching them, and Natalia realizes that this woman with her curly black hair tied back away from her face and a skin-tight suit to match must be a graduate of the Red Room. An operative, or a Widow. One who has succeeded in what they are all striving for. One who has survived.

“Natalia, Yelena,” Madame B says, turning to the newcomer. “I would like you to meet Melina Vostokova. She will be in charge. Go with her now, and do as she says. Learn what you can from her, as she is a valuable asset to the Soviet Union.” Natalia moves to follow her instructions, but Madame B catches them both by the arm, long, sharp nails digging into their skin and painted lips blowing warm breath right next to their ears. “Someday, you will be better.” _Someday, you may be the Black Widow, greatest of them all._

Melina’s face is stone, not marble, maybe, if Madame B does not think so, but something equally hard, and Natalia knows she heard the Madame’s whispered comment. But the woman only nods to their teacher, turning on her heels to walk out of the room. Natalia follows dutifully, her spine ramrod straight as she is careful not to look back at the girls she is leaving behind. Out of the corner of her eye, she notes that Yelena’s posture is not quite so good, and she savagely hopes that Madame B sees it too, and knows which one of them is better.

They follow Melina back to a room near Madame B’s office, on an upper floor of the large, indigo-brown-bricked mansion that houses the Red Room Academy. Natalia has not been on this floor often, but she knows that this is where the men in charge have their offices as well, where the girls near graduation are given their missions—missions that not all come back from, or worse, come back bruised and broken and never seen again. She does not like this floor, her bare feet padding softly along the lacquered mahogany, but it is better than the east wing. Natalia has not visited there yet, but she will someday. When she is fourteen, probably, just three short years from now, based on what she has seen of the older girls who return from whatever unspeakable horror awaits there with a stiff, pained walk and a hollowed out look in their eyes.

But that is fourteen-year-old Natalia’s problem. Right now, she only wonders what kind of mission they will be sent on, to be sent so young.

“Inside,” Melina tells them, opening the door and ushering them through. The room is outfitted with racks and lockers, women’s outfits and shoes. Natalia’s eyes are immediately attracted to a real ballerina’s outfit tucked into the corner, the ruffled skirt a pale periwinkle. But she looks to Melina instead, who withdraws two sets of clothing from the lockers, handing one bundle to Natalia and one to Yelena. “Change quickly,” she instructs them. “We do not want to keep him waiting.”

Natalia strips as instructed, laying the cloth bundle on the wooden bench while she pulls off the gray smock they all wear for training. She pulls on Melina’s selection curiously, fingering the crisp dress of green plaid overlaid on some sort of soft white fabric. Then there are the stockings that she must be careful not to snag, and then the black shoes with the brass buckle that pinch her toes slightly, but are shiny and clearly new. When she is finished, she looks at Yelena, still on one foot, and sees that she is dressed almost identically, though her dress is blue. Ivan has not yet taught her much of fashion, but Natalia has heard the sighs of Madame B enough to know that these colors were chosen specifically.

_“Never blue with your hair, Natalia. We wouldn’t want you mistaken for a capitalist.”_

Once Yelena has strapped on her other shoe, Melina, now dressed in different clothes herself, apprises them with a critical eye, smoothing out a couple wrinkles, then motions for them to follow her. Natalia’s new footwear makes a strange squeaking sound on the floor when she walks, and she tries to adjust uneasily, hoping that whatever this mission is will not require stealth.

Melina takes them down to the ground floor, descending the many staircases with a practiced air despite the heels she wears. “You will be quiet,” she tells them as soon as they are walking on flat ground again, though neither Natalia nor Yelena have made a sound in floors. Her strides lengthen, until Yelena has to take two steps for her every one, and Natalia feels an inward glow of satisfaction seeing the younger girl struggle. “You will not speak to him unless he speaks to you,” Melina continues. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Widow,” Natalia and Yelena say respectfully, as they have been taught.

The large oaken doors have just come into view when Melina stops them with a hand around each of their wrists, firm but not painful. Something in the woman’s face softens as she looks down at them. “You may call me Melina.”

“Yes, Melina,” Natalia says, and next to her Yelena narrows her eyes at her but says nothing. The woman gives her what is almost a sad smile, as if a Widow of the Red Room has anything go be sad about. Widows have power and freedom and respect, everything Natalia does not have now but will someday earn, if she is lucky. If she is good enough.

Releasing their arms, Melina’s posture stiffens again as she walks toward the doors, doors that Natalia has never been through but she knows must be the exit. She feels her heartbeat quicken with excitement. She has never been through the exit.

The man standing next to the doors turns to them as they approach, one girl on either side of Melina. Natalia had originally thought him their handler, but she realizes her mistake as his stern gaze falls on her. The man is hulking, imposing, his face unobscured by the red helmet he usually wears—the famed Red Guardian, hero of the Soviet Union, and the defender of all that was right and true against the _idiot amerikanskiy kapitan_. “ _Zdravstvuyte_ ,” he greets them, his voice rough from underneath the swell of his beard. “I am Alexei.”

“Natalia Romanova,” she says, determined to make a good first impression of herself.

Yelena’s eyes are wide and round. “Yelena Belova.”

“Are we ready to leave?” Melina asks him, her movements stiff.

“ _Da_.” Both of the adults move toward the door, the Red Guardian exiting through it and Melina holding it open for them.

Natalia steps out into bright, watery sunlight, and resists the urge to shade her eyes. Behind her, Yelena is staring upward, her little mouth slightly agape. It isn’t that they have never seen sunlight before, as plenty of their training has taken place on the grassy grounds tucked away within the Red Room facility, but this is their first time seeing it outside of those walls.

“Are we…going outside?” she hears herself ask. Her jaw instantly clamps down, teeth sharp on her tongue, but it is too late; the words have already escaped her mouth. A coppery taste coats her smarting tongue and Natalia readies herself for a slap or some other worse punishment, but none is forthcoming.

“ _Da_ ,” the Red Guardian repeats. A slight breeze picks up, causing some of his bushy beard to flutter in the wind, but he only gestures to a sleek black car that is approaching the circular road outside the Red Room Academy’s main building. The car stops in front of them, a man getting out of the driver’s seat and handing the keys to Alexei. Melina steps forward and opens the back doors for them, gesturing the girls inside.

Natalia crawls in first, as she is closest. The interior of the car has seats of cool black leather that Natalia can’thelp but run her hand over one more time after she is seated, and Yelena clamors in after her, seating herself as far away from Natalia as possible despite there only being two seats. The windows are dark and tinted but Natalia can still see out of them as the car pulls away, leaving the Room behind.

“Natalia, Yelena,” Melina says from up front, gathering their attention immediately.Natalia settles her hands in her lap and tries not to fidget. Widows do not fidget. “For the duration of this mission, we are a family. You will call me _Mama_ , and the Red Guardian _Papa_.”

“Yes, Mama,” Natalia nods, the word strange and unfamiliar on her tongue, and Yelena parrots her. So this is undercover, as Ivan had talked about.

“You will not speak of the Red Room to anyone else, nor will you speak of it to each other. You are sisters now, _ponimayete_?”

Natalia and Yelena look at each other. “ _Sestra_ ,” she says, trying the word out. She does not trust Yelena.

“ _Sestra_ ,” Yelena says, blue eyes narrowed.

The feeling is mutual.

Melina falls silent again and Natalia turns to look out the tinted window, nose close to the glass as the fields slowly turn into houses, and the houses into buildings that stretch up into the sky. When the car stops again, it is in the driveway of an unassuming white-painted house, a tall tree in the front lawn and red trimmings along the roof.

“Come,” Alexei says, motioning of them out of the car. Natalia pushes the door open herself, sliding out of the seat until her feet can touch the pavement. Then the four of them walk up the front steps of the house, then through the front entryway into a wide living area. On one side is a kitchen and a rectangular wooden table set with eight chairs, on the other a couch and fireplace and a bookshelf filled with brightly colored books and thin, angular boxes.

“This is our home for the duration of the mission,” Melina tells them.

“What is the mission?” Yelena asks, and Natalia flashes a glance at her.

“That is none of your concern,” Alexei says gruffly.

“We will be here for a week. You are children. That is your job,” Melina says, and Natalia understands, and feels some modicum of relief. The Widow and the Red Guardian have a mission. She and Yelena are their cover.

It is strange not being in the Red Room. They sit at the dining table, Natalia’s toes just barely brushing the floor and Yelena’s dangling freely, while Melina cooks dinner at the gas stove, boiling something in a large cast-iron pot that Natalia later identifies as _shchi_. Silence pervades the room among the scents of beef stock and frying onions, the two girls trying not to fidget while Alexei sits across from them, reading papers out of an important-looking manila folder.

Melina and Alexei begin to talk once dinner is served, and Natalia is glad of something to do with her hands even if she burns her tongue on the hot soup. They discuss guests and future meals and their plans for the morning, along with many more things that Natalia doesn’t quite understand—mundane-sounding phrases that nevertheless seem to have much more importance by the serious expressions on their faces. When dinner is over, Melina moves to clear the table but is waved off by Alexei, who gathers the bowls and begins washing them in the sink. A small line between her brows, Melina collects Natalia and Yelena instead, showing them to their room in this odd house.

“We have no more need of you tonight,” she tells them. “There are toiletries for you in the bathroom, and you will be up by seven a.m. tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Yes, Mama,” they chorus, and Melina shuts the door behind her, leaving them alone.

The bedroom is small, compared to the dormitories at the Red Room, but it only has to hold two beds instead of twenty. The beds are not bunks, either, but real beds like Natalia has seen in _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ and _Sleeping Beauty_ , when Madame B has them practice their American accents. At the foot of each bed is a small dresser, and Natalia opens one of the drawers to find even more clothes inside. She sits on one of the beds, running her fingers over the soft duvet, keeping an eye on the other girl in her peripheral vision. Past the door, she can hear the vague tones of Melina and Alexei talking.

Yelena tilts her head, then lays down on the floor next to the door with her ear pressed to it. “What are you doing?” Natalia demands.

“Listening. Shhh.”

“No,” Natalia says, frowning. “If they wanted us to hear, they would have told us.”

Yelena sticks her tongue out at Natalia. “Teacher’s pet. Now I get why you are Ivan’s favorite.”

“If I am her favorite, it is because I am strong,” she says. “Made of marble.”

Yelena huffs, sliding away from the crack under the door and standing up again, brushing off her dress. “They’re speaking German. I don’t know German yet.” She raises an eyebrow. “If you’re so good, how come you almost lost today, _sestra_?”

“I did _not_ almost lose.”

“You didn’t win.”

“Only because Madame stopped me,” Natalia spits. “I could have killed you.”

The younger girl shrugs. “Didn’t feel like that to me. Felt like maybe Ivan was getting soft.” Memories of blood and bruises and _“one more time, Natalia…you’re not weak, are you, Natalia?”_ when she is already gasping on the ground flood her brain. “Or maybe that’s just you.”

She tenses, and then Yelena springs at her, only the slight dilation of her pupils giving away her intentions. Nevertheless, the full force of the younger girl’s body slams into her, knocking the breath from her chest, even as words are hissed in her ear. _“We have unfinished business, sestra.”_ Natalia brings her knee up swiftly between the girl’s legs, earning a grunt of pain, but Yelena punches her in the face and makes her see stars before her small, hot fingers close around Natalia’s throat this time. “Submit.”

“ _Yebat tebya_ ,” Natalia swears at her, words she overheard from one of the older girls in the refectory once. She fists her hand in the part of Yelena’s hair that connects her braid to her scalp and _yanks_ , sending the girl tumbling off her with a yelp of pain. She goes to kick her away for good measure but Yelena blocks it with her shin, grabbing her shoulders and sending them both sprawling across the floor, the carpet muffling the sounds of their tussle. Natalia’s nails scrabble at the other girl’s back, creating long, red marks, and Yelena’s teeth bite down on the flesh of her arm. She thrashes, wresting it out of the girl’s reach before her teeth can draw blood.

“Natalia, Yelena—” The door opens behind and above them. “Separate!” Melina hisses, anger clear in her voice.

They do, Natalia’s chest heaving and adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

“What were you thinking?” Melina demands in a hushed, terrible voice. “ _Idiotki_!”

“Yelena—” Natalia begins.

“I do not care,” Melina says, fury and something else Natalia does not quite recognize in her eyes. “Understand? _I do not care_. We are here for the mission, and the mission only. What you have done compromises the mission, compromises everything—”

“Sorry, Mama,” Yelena says. Her face is flushed but her eyes fixed on the Widow’s face. She looks young again, nine or less even, and Natalia wonders if that wide-eyed, dimpled innocence is an act.

“Everything all right, Melina?” Alexei calls from the kitchen. The Red Guardian. Natalia pales.

“Fine,” Melina calls back in an utterly unaffected voice. “The girls are going to bed.”

“We are, Mama,” Natalia says quietly. “Right now, Mama.”

She shoots one last stern glance their way. “Good.” The door shuts behind her.

“That was stupid,” Natalia tells Yelena.

The girl shrugs. “Sisters fight.”

“We are _not_ _sestry_ ,” she says. “And how would you know?”

“I think I had a sister. Before.”

Natalia immediately glances toward the door. “Shut up. You know better than to talk about before.” She doesn’t know why she was suddenly trying to protect the girl who just tried to kill her. Perhaps it is the memory of fire in her brain, of the past literally being burned out of her in a sterile white lab. She stands up quickly, heading for the door. “There was no before.”

“Just because it was before doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I had a sister, and that’s for always.”

Natalia ignores her, stepping out of the room and finding the small bathroom. She scrubs the green-handled toothbrush against her teeth, cursing the younger girl’s naiveté. Yelena Belova is not her problem. She spits into the sink, then returns to the room to find Yelena in some nightclothes. Natalia finds her own from within the chest of drawers, dawning them quickly and folding the plaid dress to be worn again tomorrow. Yelena goes to the bathroom as well and then turns out the light when she returns. It is not until Natalia has crawled into bed that she realizes what’s missing.

“Where are the cuffs?” Yelena asks in a small voice.

“Just go to sleep without them,” Natalia says, though a prickle runs through her at the thought. She shifts so that her right arm is splayed above her on the pillow, trying to get comfortable.

“…I can’t.”

 _Maybe it’s a test_ , Natalia thinks. _To see if we can be obedient._ “I’ll ask Melina,” she says, because that’s the safe thing to do. She pads across the darkened floor out into the hallway again, finding the kitchen light off. Natalia reverses direction and heads for the other door across the way, the only room in the house she has not yet seen, and pushes the handle down softly, opening the door.

Melina and Alexei’s room is about the same size as the one she shares with Yelena, though it looks bigger with just one larger bed in the center rather than two small ones. The sound of water running echoes from the bathroom where Natalia supposes Alexei is showering, while Melina sits at the end of the bed in a sheer nightgown. Her head is lowered, her legs crossed, her shoulders taut with tension.

“Mama?” Natalia asks. The young woman’s face snaps upward, and she briefly wonders if she should have called her Melina instead, if the mission hasn’t started yet and it would have startled her less. But Widows shouldn’t be startled.

“Natalia,” she shakes her head. “Go back to bed.”

“I just wanted to ask—”

The water shuts off in the bathroom. “Natalia, go,” Melina says again, rising quickly to usher her out of the room. Natalia goes, stumbling backwards through the doorway. “ _You shouldn’t have to see this_.”

“She said it was fine,” Natalia tells Yelena when she returns to her room, sliding under the covers with a definite sense of disquiet that she cannot quite place. “We’re undercover.” She positions her arm above her head again, and slides fitfully into sleep.

* * *

In the morning, Melina feeds them breakfast, and speaks nothing of their interaction the night before. But Natalia is watching now, watching more closely for any sign of what is wrong. After they’ve eaten, Melina takes her into the adult bedroom again and dabs makeup on her face, concealing the bruise on her cheek left by Yelena’s fist. When they return, the dishes have been cleaned and Alexei is attempting—and failing—at braiding the younger girl’s hair.

Natalia supposes even the Red Guardian can’t be good at everything.

Around nine Melina and Alexei explain further what their role here will be, using words like ‘games,’ and ‘fun,’ and ’cards,’ and ‘play.’ Across from her, she can see Yelena is equally confused too, until they switch to talking about the importance of distraction and lying and keeping their targets well out of the way—those words, at least, they understand.

Their marks arrive a little past ten, a mama and a papa to match Melina and Alexei and two children to match Natalia and Yelena. The children are a boy and a girl of ten years, exactly between their ages, and they don’t speak Russian, but instead stumble through accented English, which Natalia and Yelena match. It helps, the language disparity, because though they must tone down their fluency and Americanization it makes them think more carefully before they speak, helps them sell the lie.

Emory is the boy; Ella is the girl. He chooses a game off the bookshelf almost immediately—so that’s what those colorful boxes are—and she squeals in delight, asking them to play. It is strange not to know how to play a game in their own house, especially one known so well to the boy and girl, but all it takes is a single glance at Yelena before she is casually reading off the instructions in a fast stream of Russian while Natalia passes little plastic pieces to the other children to set up.

After that game is another, and another—brightly colored pictures and pearly six-sided cubes and bouts of carefree laughter that she and Yelena do their best to emulate. For lunch, they join the adults in the kitchen where Melina serves another round of _shchi_ for their guests. Then it is the backyard to play on the swing set, which Natalia secretly thinks is the most enjoyable thing they’ve done all day, the wind whipping through her hair as she jumps off and executes a perfect barrel roll to avoid any broken bones, and then the German family is leaving.

“Well done,” Melina praises the two of them once the family has returned to their own house down the block.Natalia can’t remember receiving praise when it wasn’t preceded by blood and bruises or holes ripping through a paper silhouette.

In contrast, dinner is a quiet affair, Melina and Alexei comparing notes on what they had learned from the day and Natalia and Yelena eating quietly, some kind of tentative truce sprung between them borne of shared experiences of board games and swing sets. Natalia doesn’t _think_ she’ll attack her again tonight.

_“Trust is folly, Natalia…”_

So Natalia goes back to silent watchfulness—the mission dossiers firm in the Red Guardian’s grip, the cramped way he writes notes using words like ‘defectors’ and ‘Berlin,’ the way Melina freezes when he reaches across her to grab the dishes. 

“God damn it, Melina, I told you last night—I’m not going to hurt you,” Alexei says suddenly. Yelena is staring at her across the table, eyes wide, while Natalia is just confused. Why would the Red Guardian hurt a Widow? And not only that, but she didn’t think _anyone_ could hurt a Widow if they tried, except maybe Madame B.

Even if she becomes the _Black Widow_ , she is starting to wonder if she will ever fully escape the Madame.

“Of course not,” Melina replies in a clipped voice, eyes flashing back to Natalia and Yelena’s faces before returning to his. But some of the tension fades from the room anyway, inexplicably, and Melina and Alexei even come to their room to bid them goodnight in their beds, a soft caress of hair from each of them in wide view of the window that stirs up a warm feeling she doesn’t want to think about in her gut.

* * *

In the end, the German defectors have to die. Natalia steps gingerly over their bodies on her way out of the house, careful not to let any of the blood get on shiny black shoes she knows she will not get to keep.

In the end, the children have to die too, but Melina doesn’t ask them do it. 

In the end, Natalia beats Yelena four times in a row in a game called _Monopoly_ , and Yelena takes her revenge in _Chutes and Ladders_.

In the end, Yelena sleeps the nights away from the Red Room in her bed, Natalia’s fingers clasped gently around the little red ring on her wrist.

In the end, Yelena is right. Sisters—and maybe _mama_ s and _papa_ s too—are for always.

**Author's Note:**

> In the end, none of it mattered because the Russos decided to throw Natasha off a cliff and a global pandemic prevented the release of her movie...
> 
> Hope you liked it anyway. Feel free to leave feedback, Russo-related rants, or lack of _Black Widow _-related commiseration in the comments ;)__


End file.
